


Negative Space

by caliecat



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: Angst, Bromance, Coda, Episode Related, Food, Gen, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-03-29
Updated: 2011-03-29
Packaged: 2017-10-17 09:13:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/175258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caliecat/pseuds/caliecat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve and Danny uncover hidden meanings beneath a simple discussion of lettuce. Extended coda to Episode 1x19, Na Me'e Laua Na Paio.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Negative Space

"You know who you are? Nebby McGarrett."

Danny laughs at Steve's pinched expression, the mingled frustration and hurt telegraphing utter confusion. He stops dead in his tracks on the steps outside of HQ, forcing Steve to halt next to him, relishing the exquisite delight of knowing something his worldly partner _doesn't_.

"That's right, babe. It means you're _nosy_. My cousin in Pittsburgh—"

"Now I'm nosy? Because I asked about your lunch?" Steve frowns at the half-eaten sandwich in Danny's right hand. "What happened to the salads?"

"Let me tell you who eats lettuce for lunch. Rabbits, that's who. Mr. Hoppy eats lettuce. Grown men, not so much." He elbows the holster at his hip. "I'm a law enforcement officer, I need to keep up my strength for gunfights, running down the bad guys—"

"Running?" Steve snorts. "Last time you chased down a perp you were riding an ATV. That's your idea of strenuous activity?"

"No, that's my idea of doing things in a rationally efficient manner. What you fail to realize is that not all of us find it necessary to run around like Rambo on speed—"

"Stop it, please, you're like a broken record." Steve's face twists into the characteristic pissy look he gets in response to any mention of Rambo. Maybe it's the Army thing, him and his precious _Navy_....

"I'm just saying—"

"And I don't care. What is that?"

Steve actually lunges for his sandwich, almost grabbing it before Danny snatches it out of range. Hot grease and a blob of melted cheese drip down from the bun, burning a path along his wrist, but he gamely hangs on.

"It's, um, Spam."

Like he would be caught dead eating that crap. Just saying its name makes him ill. But Steve doesn't need to know that. He must be off his game if he can be fooled this easily. Danny will have to keep a close eye on him today.

"Spam? Huh."

Steve's face morphs into that triumphant smirk he flaunts whenever he thinks he has Danny all figured out. It's so familiar Danny can practically hear his thoughts.

 _Danny likes Hawaii, even if he won't admit it, Danny likes—_

"So you're getting into local food. That's great, buddy."

And right on cue, there's that big dopey grin, the unmistakable sign of Steve's heartfelt joy at the idea of Danny finally _fitting in,_ finally leaving New Jersey behind.As if.

"Sure," he says flatly, then pushes off the step and heads toward the car, Steve tucked in close to his side. There's no way he's getting dragged into an interrogation about his eating habits. When Steve looks away for a moment he crams the rest of the sandwich into his mouth but the pleasure is gone now, killed by his partner's insatiable curiosity. 

They need to get back to work anyway. He waits until he has Steve's full attention again and then deftly changes the subject.

"So, uh, about those witness reports, should we start with that clown at the body shop or the goof from the warehouse? Not like we'll get a straight story from either of them but whatever you want to do is fine by me."

"Yeah. Here's the plan."

And with that, Steve's nose is out of his business and back on the task at hand where it belongs. 

At least for now.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Three days later, Danny is at his desk finishing lunch when Steve stalks in, madly waving something like a tiny flag.

"What the hell is this? I found it in the trashcan in the break room." His hand stops moving long enough for Danny to recognize the scrap of burlap with the red and white label.

 _Uh oh._ He slipped up, he should have left it at home but he was in such a rush that morning it seemed easier to bring it in, he knew he'd have time to make a quick lunch before Steve returned from his meeting....

"You found—the trash? Who picks through trash? What kind of nutcase are you?" Misdirection usually works. And it's a completely legitimate question.

But Steve has that mulish look now, one hand on his hip and the other thrusting that damn wrapper in Danny's face. "Doesn't matter. I was looking for something and—"

"Do you have any idea what's _in_ trash? Germs, dirt, spoiled food. Wait, are you hungry? Did you learn that in the Navy, how to rummage for food on your crazy top-secret missions?"

Steve's looming over the desk now, scowling. "My—never mind. This—"

"No, I want to know. What were you doing in there, Mr. Clean?"

"Looking for a grenade pin, okay, but that's not—"

"A _grenade pin_? Now I have to worry about loose explosive devices in the office? I thought we talked about that. Did you not listen to me when I explained that grenades belong in the _field_ , Steven, and not around innocent bystanders? Like me?"

Stubbornness melts into something suspiciously like embarrassment on Steve's face. "It was an extra pin, not—there was no _grenade_ , Danny, nothing for you to worry about but that doesn't matter."

"I'll decide—"

"Answer my question—what's _this_?"

He smacks the incriminating evidence down on Danny's desk, right on top of the stack of HPD forms he's been plugging away at all morning, contaminating everything underneath with whatever filth was in that trashcan.

And reads it. Out loud. Because just enough of the writing remains to be legible, of course.

"Pork Roll. Taylor Provisions Company. Trenton. _New Jersey_." He shouts the name of Danny's beloved home state like a curse. Which truly hurts.

"So all this time you told me you were eating Spam, it was _this_? Which is what, some kind of Jersey version?"

"No!" Danny shudders at the thought. "Don't even—listen, Spam is meat in a _can_ which is all kinds of wrong, and it's made from who knows what, but this, on the other hand, _this_ is a true delicacy, it's smoked and spicy and—"

"Then why haven't I seen it before? Not in a store, not on a menu...." Steve's eyes narrow with suspicion like he knows he's onto something. "Where'd you get this?"

No way to avoid the truth this time. Danny cocks his head and spreads his hands in a what-the-hell gesture. He draws out the words, deliberate and slow, the way one handles dynamite.

"From a website."

Steve, predictably, explodes at that revelation. "The _internet_? Are you kidding me? I thought only _schmucks_ did that."

"No, _schmucks_ order used car parts from fly-by-night joints in Ohio—"

"Iowa."

"Whatever." Danny waves off that irrelevancy and tips back in his chair. Maybe he can actually turn Steve around to his way of thinking, teach him something about the finer things in life.

"Savvy shoppers like _me_ order from legitimate business establishments based right in the Garden State."

"And you know they're legitimate how?"

"I know, okay." At least he _got_ what he ordered, which is more than he can say for Steve. Maybe Danny should give him lessons. "If you want I can show you—"

"So now you're importing _lunch_ from five thousand miles away? That seems normal to you?" Relentless. Like a dog with a bone. Dug out of the trash, no less.

"Perfectly. It's my way of maintaining my emotional and physical health during my exile in Hawaii. And let me tell you, babe, working with you, that's—"

"You lied to me."

" _What_?" The words aren't as troubling as the menacing tone and deadly serious expression behind them. Steve could spiral down into darkness faster than anyone he knew.

"You said you liked Spam but you never even tried it. You _lied_ to me."

Danny's stomach churns in frustration. Why does everything have to circle back to a question of trust? He sits up and plants his elbow, ticking off the counterpoints to Steve's ridiculous accusation.

"First of all, what's not _normal_ is ransacking _garbage_ for secrets about your partner like you're on some demented Special Ops mission. Second, I never said I _liked_ Spam, much as you want me to, and I _did_ try it once and it just—no. Third, it wasn't a lie, per se,it was—what is was, in fact, was an attempt to get you off my back about New Jersey, because like it or not that's my home and I have roots there, and I'm tired of you trash-talking it every chance—"

" _This_ is your home. _Here_." Steve slaps his palm down. The wrapper flies up on a puff of air before floating down to the floor, blessedly out of sight.

Danny covers his face and sighs, not wishing to rehash the whole sorry argument they keep having every time the issue of his residency comes up. It's one of Steve's favorite buttons to push. The postcard in the car, the Christmas decorations, the insults about his dress, his food, his entire _life_....

As much as he tries not to react, he _is_ tired of it, especially when he's had a bad week and his guard is down and he wants to crawl off and lick his wounds in peace. Tired of the unending surveillance, the poking into his business, the refusal to let him have any privacy or hold any _secrets_ that Steve doesn't share.

There's a small part of him—stubborn pride, independence, or simple nostalgia for what he gave up to come here—that wants to claim some unexamined corner of his soul for himself. To stay true to whoever he was before he left New Jersey.

Because as much as he's flattered by Steve's constant attention, as much as he basks in the obvious affection, it's overwhelming at times, like a heavy blanket that's comfortable at first but soon becomes suffocating.

The boundaries between them shrink more every day. Steve doesn't do anything halfway, he's all-in when the target's in sight and Danny wonders where all that focused intensity is leading them. And how much of _him_ will be left when they get there.

On the other hand, Steve is loyal, funny and smart, has a heart as big as Texas and generally allows him do whatever he wants, taking incredible amounts of shit from him he doesn't tolerate from anyone else. That counts for something. A lot, actually.

And it's not like he doesn't bring his own baggage into their relationship. Thanks to Rachel he's well aware of his many flaws. But Steve doesn't seem to mind, letting the ebb and flow of Danny's mercurial moods and prickly personality wash over him like waves lapping at the shoreline, mostly without complaint.

Danny blows out another breath, willing himself to relax. Nothing about them is easy. Steve is infuriating and high-maintenance and a total nut, but he's _Danny's_ nut, and at the end of the day that's all that matters.

If he could only get a handle on his _control issues_ —

"Hey."

His hand is gently pulled away from his face and there's Steve, bent over the desk to catch his eye, looking vaguely confused and worried. The raised eyebrows and half-smile indicate that maybe he finally cooled down.

"Where did you go?" he asks quietly.

"Nowhere." Danny twitches a smile back and shrugs his shoulders to release the tension. It's impossible to stay mad at the giant goof for long and anyway, he isn't one to hold a grudge. "Look—"

"Yeah." Steve's teeth tug at his lip and Danny knows what's coming next. The best part of any argument is the aftermath, savoring the sweetness of Steve's eventual capitulation. Privately, of course.

"Maybe I overreacted."

"Possibly. We'll keep it between us."

"Thanks," Steve says, softened by some mix of gratitude and relief. He points to the remaining sliver of sandwich abandoned on the desk. "So it's that good?"

"Try it, see for yourself." He sounds as smug as he feels and why not? Taylor Ham and cheese is a true classic, it's impossible _not_ to like it.

Steve pops it into his mouth. "Not bad," he mumbles as he chews, considering. "Sort of like Spam but—"

"Hold it right there. Obviously your taste buds have been destroyed by this unnatural climate."

"You're sensitive about the strangest things, you know that, right?" Steve whips a crumpled napkin off the desk and scrubs the grease off his hands. "What's the big deal?"

Danny shakes his head. "You don't compare the _Mona Lisa_ to one of Grace's finger paintings, that's all I'm saying."

"You really _are_ crazy," Steve says, rolling his eyes, but they're gleaming with something like admiration, because he of all people can certainly appreciate _crazy_. "Speaking of Grace, what about your cholesterol she was so worried about?"

"Fine, it's fine, she wasn't worried about me, specifically, it was part of her nutrition project at school—"

"What's your number?"

"My number—my _cholesterol_ number?" Unbelievable. Does he ever stop?

"Yeah. What is it?"

"That is on a need to know basis, my friend. Classified. And _you_ do not need to know." Maybe phrasing it in Steve's stupid CIA lingo will get the point across.

"I need to know." Or maybe not. Because there's that mulish expression again.

"Why, exactly, do you need to know?"

"You're my partner."

"That's not a reason. Not even close."

"I'm your boss."

"I suppose that's _technically_ true, so what?"

"So it's a _personnel_ matter, Danny, I need to know everything about my team. What if there's an emergency?"

Danny laughs at the sheer audacity of Steve's argument. "You're a lunatic. An emergency involving _cholesterol_ levels? Please, draw me a picture of what _that_ looks like. And haven't you ever heard of HIPAA? Medical privacy law, ring a bell? Because you get to know what I choose to tell you and that's it. And guess what? I choose not to tell you. The end."

He tips back in his chair again, picks up a pen and twirls it between his fingers with flair, satisfied with yet another victory in their never-ending battle of wits. Steve glowers back, eyebrows drawn together into one stormy line. It reminds him of something his mother used to say.

"Better watch out or your face will freeze that way—"

"You don't get to keep secrets around here," Steve says, low and dangerous. "That's not how this works."

 _"Secrets?"_ He's playing _that_ card?

Danny's fuse blows, his composure vaporizing in the heat of Steve's anger. He explodes out of his chair and jabs the pen at Steve's chest, staring him down across the desk.

"I can't have secrets? That's rich coming from you, considering the _universe_ of things you don't tell me, Mr. Secret Classified Mission. Because God forbid I should know what super secret skills you actually possess, skills that might save my ass in the field some day, because that would threaten the security of the free world, wouldn't it, if—"

"That's different and you know it. You're not being fair."

Steve crosses his arms and drops his eyes, stubborn determination etched on his face. Danny hates that expression, particularly when it's directed at him.

"Fair?" He's yelling now, his voice rising with his blood pressure. "Do you seriously—I don't even know—"

Abruptly, he cuts himself off, takes a deep breath and steps back from the precipice, because where is this going anyway? They will never see eye to eye on everything, their backgrounds and temperaments are too dissimilar, but usually that doesn't matter and they still fit together perfectly, like two jagged pieces of one weird puzzle. Until Steve locks on to the delusion that he's _right,_ with his typical laser focus.

Time for another approach.

"How about a compromise?" Danny offers. "You keep your military secrets tucked away where I can't see them. And in turn, all I'm asking for is a little privacy of my own once in a while."

Surely Steve will agree, he's all about logic and positioning and tactical maneuvers. This make sense for both of them.  Danny spreads his arms out, palms up, beseeching him to understand.

"I just need my space. Is that too much to ask?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

 _I just need my space. Is that too much to ask?_

Steve stares a hole in the carpet while he turns the question over in his mind.

He knows more than anyone should about space. Like the empty spaces in his past, missing a father's pride, a mother's presence and a sister's companionship.

Or the empty spaces in his house, crammed full of bad memories, ghosts and strange noises in the middle of the night, not the mundane clicks and grinds of household appliances, but the more ominous sounds, the ones that echo like rifle fire and explosions and a single gunshot aimed at the head of a man silently pleading for his life. 

And the empty spaces in his soul, ripping him from sleep in the dead of night, torturing him with nightmares of everything he's lost and taunting him with dreams of everything he will never have.

They're speaking two different languages. Steve's more at ease bargaining in Farsi at a Persian bazaar than he is unraveling the hidden meanings and motives beneath Danny's rambling thoughts. Maybe that's why Danny fascinates him so much.

To Danny, secrets are fun—private toys to share with Grace or harmless weapons to use when they trade insults. But Steve knows that secrets are corrosive, destroying everything from the inside like the rust attacking the engine block in his father's old car. They grow and rot and fester until they push people away, farther and farther until finally they're an ocean apart.

Danny doesn't understand why it really _is_ too much to ask. Because it's his job to _fill_ those spaces. Not create new ones.

The heavy silence creeps into Steve's awareness. He looks up, afraid of what he'll find, but Danny's quietly watching him, calm and steady, as though he knows exactly what Steve's thinking. Which he probably does.

Steve isn't sure what his own face reveals when Danny shakes his head and smiles at him with a kind of patient acceptance.

"So, Nebby, are we in agreement here? You don't need to know every single minor detail of my life?"

"Nebby? Is that gonna be a thing now?"

"Let's call it a term of endearment."

He can work with that. "You want me to back off, fine, but stop asking me about things I can't tell you."

Danny throws him a smug look. "Ah, but you see, I won't know that until I ask, will I?"

"Whatever." He hates when his own words are twisted back against him.

"And New Jersey, you'll give that a rest?"

Here it is again, the constant threat to leave Steve behind and worse off than before he met Danny in the first place.

"You know what, if you love Jersey so much why don't you—"

"Whoa!" Danny's got his hand up like a cop at a crosswalk. "Calm down! Why can't I talk about where I'm from without you going ballistic?"

"Because when you do that all the time people think you want to move back there, that you're not happy here and—"

"People?"

Steve slides his eyes away. Danny doesn't get it.

He talks a good game about living like a refugee but the truth is he's firmly anchored to Grace, even Rachel, and to his family and friends back East. _Roots_ , he said, and he's right, bound by a web of unbreakable connections to people who love him.

Unlike Steve, cast adrift by his own family, never sure if he'll crash upon the shoals, shipwrecked, or be lost at sea forever with no hope of rescue. He wonders if he'll ever love anyone in the easy way Danny does, if he ever did, if he even deserves to.

"You can admit it, you know."

Steve looks back, nervous that Danny's reading his thoughts again. "What?"

Danny walks around the desk to stand in front of him. "That you'd miss me if I left."

"You're not going anywhere." But there's no confidence in his voice.

"It's a hypothetical, you idiot." Danny punches him lightly on the arm, grinning. The tightness in his stomach uncoils.

"I don't do hypotheticals," he says around his own smile. "Too ambiguous and messy."

"You're full of shit.

"I'm—"

"And you're also a big softie, but we'll keep that as our little secret." Danny's face lights up, his eyes crinkling at the corners. It's a good look on him.

So maybe not all secrets are bad. And not all space is negative. But it's still more than Steve wants and much more than he needs.

He has all the time in the world to bring Danny around to his point of view. Everything's moving in the right direction. Their team, all four of them, is solid as a rock, pulling together tighter and closer every day. He can't imagine anything coming between them or breaking them apart. There's still the problem of Wo Fat but he's confident they'll resolve that soon.

As long as Danny stays here, right by his side, anything is possible.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to alamo_girl80 for the input and the review!
> 
> [Order your own Taylor Ham here](http://www.jerseyporkroll.com)


End file.
